Page 3 of The Wedding Menu

“All of it. The flowers, the photographer, the band. Every. Single. Detail.”

He huffs his disapproval. “Jesus, Amelie. You can’t let her.”

I wish it were that easy. Resting my chin on the palm of myhand, I look down at my empty plate while yet another lock escapes my hairdo. “Well, I can’t really say anything because I’m not…” I venture a look at him, and he’s watching me so intently, it makes me wonder if he gives his undivided attention to everyone, or if there’s a deeper reason for his interest. “I’m notengagedengaged.”

His eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

“I’m technically… Hmm, I guess you could call it ‘pre-engaged.’?”

His gaze moves to my hand, probably to confirm there’s no ring on it. “So you have a boyfriend.”

I press my lips together. “No.I’vehada boyfriend for fifteen years, and he’s going to propose soon, so I’m pre-engaged.”

“Yeah, that’s not a thing.”

“It’s a thing,” I snap, catching his smile widening.

“All right. It’s a thing. So why aren’t you engaged yet after fifteen years?”

Looking around the table, I search for my most recent margarita and take a sip, then I set it down and gesture broadly at the empty glasses. “Funny you should ask, because I’ve been playing a really fun game tonight where I take a drink every time someone asks me why Frank and I aren’t married yet.”

His lips open in a tight O before he manages a soft “I see.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“So you can’t say anything to Martha, becausetechnicallyyou’re not getting married yet.”

“Technically,” I admit, and when his eyes light up with a twinkle of amusement, I point my finger at him. “No, no. I’m still right. You see, my boyfriend doesn’t get it, either, but there’s an unspoken agreement. I chose a bouquet of red roses when I was ten and a dark green off-shoulder dress for my bridesmaids when I was fifteen. They’re as good as booked, Ian.”

“Of course. I get it.” He nods as he rubs his chin, his gaze intently set on mine. “It’s important to you, and your friend is being careless of your feelings. That’s not cool.”

“Thank you,” I say in agreement. It’s liberating to have someone take my side for once.

He shifts in his chair and turns my way, bringing his hand to the side of his neck as his blue eyes fill with a kindness I’ve never experienced before. Right then I realize I like Ian. He’s definitely one of the good guys. “You said your ‘preancé’ doesn’t agree?”

“Oh, we’ve had an entire season of fights lately. The latest episode aired today, in fact.”

“A whole season, huh?” He leans forward, his interest piqued again. “Well, if I’m binge-watching, we’re going to need more drinks.”

He stands with a smile, then walks to the bar. His back is wide and inviting, and with each stride the muscles of his thighs flex under his suit pants. His broad chest stretches his white shirt to its limits, and his thick hair falls in a thoughtless manner over the sides of his face.

A few eyes follow him as he sets his elbow on the counter and talks to the bartender. Ian is the type of man who would attract the attention of the gentler sex, for sure. Plus, he’s got the attitude thing figured out. There’s a cocky but casual quality to his movements, his expressions—loads of self-confidence, humor, and wit. He might be one of the good guys, but if he’s single, it must be because hewantsto be.

He drops himself into the chair next to mine a few minutes later, a margarita and a glass of something that looks like whiskey in his hands. “So, is that why he’s not here? Your boyfriend?”

Lips pinching, I nod. I’ve had to justify his absence with a sudden fever to a billion people already, bride and groom included.“His company asked him to move to manage one of their offices, and he wants to go. It’s only temporary, six months. But my job is here, so…”

“Long-distance?”

That’s Frank’s plan. Which is not ideal, but I’m willing to do it for a while. The fight was actually about him accepting the job without even talking to me about it first. To be honest, it felt like he couldn’t wait to get away.

Barbara walks toward us in a fluffy white princess dress, holding her new husband’s hand and waving my way as they leave the dance floor. Soon, that’s going to be me, I hope, and I wish I were more excited, but the upcoming separation from Frank and the drama with Martha have sucked out all the joy.

With a long sigh, I take another sip.

“Okay, I have the solution to your wedding problem,” Ian says, standing and buttoning his gray suit jacket over his crispy white shirt. Only then, his arm reaches out, his hand open and waiting for mine. “And it starts with a dance.”

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